Two Happy Genius Heroes
by muckraker
Summary: Nanashi and Kotarou, after the dust has settled. Sort of. There's a lot of dust to settle.


**Two Happy Genius Heros**

* * *

The thing about living by the sword is that it's not a life you live for very long. Nanashi guesses it's better than nothing. It's better than living as a street kid who begs for food and feels a crippling, dizzy hunger every day of his life, and it's better than living as a soldier who obeys and obeys and lives under by the someone else's whims and ruthlessness all his waking years. A sword is a sword, and some people leave you alone just for that.

But then, swords really only have one purpose.

So the real thing is, Nanashi isn't used to having a concept of the rest of his life. He certainly isn't used to having the rest of someone else's life on his hands. And then suddenly there was a boy and a dog, and this weird kid talked about things like the future and _later_ and _tomorrow_, and Nanashi realized that he didn't want to leave him, didn't want to let him down. (Because after so many years, even _Nanashi_ is a name, in its own way, especially when Kotarou kept saying, _Hey, Nanashi, hey, hey_, refusing to shut up until he got an answer.) And so when he sat behind Kotarou on their stolen horse, his head down on that bony little shoulder, listening to Kotarou talk about what they were going to do and how they were going to live, Nanashi thought that it didn't sound all that bad, even with his arm feeling just about split in half and the dizzying pain that washed over him when he poked at the gash in his side, even with the wash of blood down his leg.

The rest of their lives began like this: Kotarou sitting straight in the saddle, his legs too short for his feet to reach the stirrups, and Nanashi slung over the back of the horse, woozy with the herky-jerk motion and how awfully clear the sky was over their heads, like it was so heavy and so intense that it might drown them in an endless, forever-blue.

* * *

Very early in the morning of the first day of the rest of their lives, Nanashi woke in the dark with a cold nose snuffling in his ear. He jerked and swore, pain stabbing at him as he tried to swat the dog away. Tobimaru dragged his tongue across Nanashi's face and panted on him in a way that was probably supposed to be affectionate, smelling like fish and mud. Nanashi tried to move away and saw stars as he rolled onto his left side, and Tobimaru just hopped over him and carried on. Knotting his fingers in Tobimaru's ragged collar, Nanashi muttered helplessly, "Get off," his voice sounding strangled and foreign.

There was movement in the darkness overhead, and then two arms encircled Tobimaru's neck and pulled him away. "Nanashi?" Kotarou whispered, his eyes glittering in the dark. "You're awake? Nanashi?"

"Yeah," Nanashi breathed. He coughed and took a deep breath, his ribs aching, and he reached out to scratch at the space behind Tobimaru's ears. He gave a hoarse laugh. "Don't sound so surprised."

Kotarou gave a sniff and said crossly, "Don't tease me." Nanashi felt him tighten his arms around Tobimaru's neck. "I thought--you were--"

He thought, and then he dimly remembered sliding off the horse, blacking out for the instant that it took to hit the snowy ground, and then Tobimaru whining and tugging at him and Kotarou on top of him, smacking his cheeks and blaring his name, the edge of tears cutting into his voice. He went on petting Tobimaru, and when his hand migrated over from the dog's velvety ear to Kotarou's hair, he patted Kotarou's head, his hand clumsy. "Sorry," he said.

Without ducking away from the touch, Kotarou grumbled and shifted, muttering darkly about idiots and apologies, and Nanashi gave another little laugh. There was a brazier somewhere down near his feet, and its light was a faint red glow on Kotarou's cheeks, on Tobimaru's curl of a tail. A hollow, fluting moan of wind sang beyond the walls of the little room, and Kotarou whispered, "It's snowing again."

"Mm." He wet his lips and cleared his throat again. "Where are we?" he heard himself say, his words slurring a little. He thought of blue skies, feeling stupid and drugged.

"The doctor's." Kotarou settled closer. "His wife is nice. I've never met a lady so nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She gave me food and talked to me while the doctor was with you. Tobimaru stayed here the whole time. He's stayed with you almost all day." The dog nosed at Nanashi's hand, licked his palm, and Nanashi scratched at his neck. "The doctor said he didn't think you'd live," Kotarou said, his voice matter-of-fact. "He said he's seen people die from this stuff. And he said you can't leave for at least another day." Tobimaru finally tugged away from Kotarou's arms and settled down snugly against Nanashi's hip, tucking up his paws with a doggy sigh.

"Oh. Okay." Nanashi let out his breath and dropped his hand, and then Kotarou's small hands caught it. His grip was tight and unrelenting, his thumbs pressed against the edges of Nanashi's knuckles, the rough patches of callouses, and his hands were warm and soft. Nanashi closed his fingers over Kotarou's and said nothing.

He thought he heard Kotarou say something like, "Don't you dare leave me," and he wanted to laugh, to say _I'm not going anywhere,_ but he closed his eyes and real, exhausted sleep stole over him, and the warmth of Kotarou's hands was like an anchor in the sea of cold and dark.

* * *

By the dim light of day, the room was dirty and small, and light pried its way through cracks in the walls to bleed across the floor. Outside, winter birds chittered, the sound flat in the thin air. Nanashi shoved himself up on his good arm, gritting his teeth against the ache clamped tight over his muscles, and dizziness prickled over him as he finally sat up. He drew a breath through his teeth, gagged, and knotted his fingers in the blanket.

When nausea finally ebbed and eased away, he blinked at his hand and focused on the blanket that covered him: one of the Ming warriors' cloaks, deep russet-red and ragged and stained along the bottom edge. Its dense fabric reeked of smoke and blood, of river mud and sea-salt. Kotarou and Tobimaru were curled together in its folds in a heavy, warm weight against his side, and when he shifted again, Tobimaru lifted his head.

"Don't mind me, little dog," he muttered, steadying himself on his left hand, his right useless in its sling. He untangled his legs from the cloak and fought his way to his feet, wobbling. Tobimaru watched him step carefully over Kotarou, ears perked forward, and when Nanashi had limped over to the door, he squirmed out from under Kotarou and trotted to Nanashi's heels, tail wagging. Kotarou made a sleepy sound and curled into a tighter ball, pulling the Ming cloak around himself.

The room beyond--a little living area, a fire and a pot of something cooking--was empty, and Nanashi took a few tottering steps around, feeling stupid and pathetic and very, very glad there was no one to see him but the dog. He was almost at the door, carefully bracing himself against the wall with his good hand and toeing his way across the floor, when a man ducked in the doorway. Tobimaru barked and Nanashi froze, and then the man looked at him and said, "You're awake," with a horrible note of surprise to his voice that wasn't really very encouraging. He was old (or old-looking), his face cracked and weathered, his skin brown. He wore a patch over one eye.

"Ah," Nanashi said. He didn't let go of the wall and bent in an awkward half-bow that wrenched at his side. "Thank you--"

The doctor flapped his hands, shooing Nanashi over to sit by the fire. Tobimaru took advantage of the open doorway to dart out into the cold, and his tail was the only thing Nanashi saw before it flipped out of sight. Nanashi protested, thinking bitterly that he had been betrayed by a dog, and then he was scolded and pushed, and he didn't have the strength or the balance to resist. It ended with him getting a bowl of hot porridge and a cup of tea that filled him with glorious heat, him shoveling rice into his mouth with one hand while the doctor poked and prodded at the other, knobby fingers pressing against sore muscle and inflamed skin.

Before long, the doctor's wife came in with her arms full of bundles of dried plants and Tobimaru running at her heels. She looked as though she had been shaped by the sea, her shoulders wide and her hands rough. Nanashi hastily bowed to her, and she laughed and looked him over as though she was sizing him up, and then she asked after Kotarou, and when Nanashi nodded at the other room, she set down her herbs and went to wake him, a fond look in her eyes that Nanashi had never really seen before.

He was watching with interest when she herded Kotarou out, him rubbing sleepily at his face and his hair sticking straight up in the back. He blurted out, "Nanashi!" and then, "Breakfast!"

"Bath," the doctor's wife corrected, steering him toward the door. Kotarou whined and made a weak argument, but she shushed him and made him shuffle into his sandals, and as they slipped out the door, she winked over her shoulder.

Nanashi rolled his eyes, pushing his empty bowl away. "Sorry to be a nuisance." The old doctor laughed and said there was no nuisance, but then he peered at Nanashi and asked him if he could have a look at his side. Nanashi pulled open his gi, his right hand clumsy and aching, and the doctor leaned in and cut his bandages with a worn knife. He gently pushed at Nanashi's shoulder, explaining, "before the boy gets back," and Nanashi nodded and eased himself down, his breath hissing through his teeth as his shoulders met the floorboards. The doctor unraveled the bandages and crouched over him and shook his head, murmuring, "Very lucky, samurai-san," and Nanashi didn't really have the heart to correct him.

He squinted down the line of his body and winced at the sight of the wound; its edges were puckered and caked with brown-black, and when he finally focused on it he registered the stitches of catgut pulling the edges of the wound together, and he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, feeling very ill. The doctor looked at him in surprise and actually gave a little laugh. "You were very impressive," he said. "If this wound was any closer in, like here or here--" he mimicked the slash across his own belly, "--you would have been holding handfuls of your own guts." He smiled and said again, "Very lucky."

"You see a lot of that in a seaside village?" Nanashi said, taking a steady breath.

"Ahaha, goodness, no." He tapped his eye patch. "You're not the only one who's seen fighting, samurai-san."

When Kotarou came back, looking pink and cold but cleaner than he'd been in quite a few days, Nanashi was sitting up and dressed again and trying futilely to make a fist as the doctor smeared a pungent salve across his arm. Tobimaru bounded in with him, tongue lolling, and deposited himself at Kotarou's feet as the doctor's wife ladled out breakfast for them. Between mouthfuls of porridge, Kotarou rambled excitedly about the winter storehouse to Nanashi, describing bushels of tall sweet grasses and bundles of dried flowers, stone jars of salve and envelopes of medicine. He listed off names of the plants on his fingers, and when the doctor's wife gently corrected him, Nanashi could hear the warmth of pride in her voice. He could see the way she looked at Kotarou, and it was an aching knot in his chest. He wondered if Kotarou remembered his mother.

As the doctor dabbed the salve on the last of Nanashi's surface wounds, Nanashi cleared his throat and asked quietly about the fee. The doctor paused over the cut across Nanashi's ear, and then he chuckled and said, "The boy has taken care of it." Nanashi stared at him, and he just nodded at Kotarou, smiling.

Nanashi frowned at Kotarou. "You what?" Kotarou's ears turned pink, and he kicked at the floor.

The doctor's wife nudged at him, and he mumbled, "The horse. I sold him."

Nanashi blinked at him. "Eh? Really? How much?" Kotarou met his eye sheepishly and held up one hand, three fingers splayed. "Three ryo?" At Kotarou's nod, Nanashi gave a surprised laugh and settled back on his good hand. "That horse wasn't worth three ryo." He laughed again and shook his head. "That's not bad."

Kotarou flushed with pride and smothered a grin. "It was a messenger that wanted it," he said, lifting his chin primly. "He wanted it so bad, I could've asked for anything I wanted." Nanashi rolled his eyes and the doctor laughed, and Kotarou waved his hand in the air, posturing for his audience as he made up a story about haggling for a scrawny horse.

* * *

Later, when the doctor had gone down to the town, taking Kotarou and Tobimaru with him, Nanashi limped outside and to the little shed that stood close to the line of trees, the winter remains of a garden before it. The doctor's wife sat on its steps, untangling a thick snarl of cord draped over her lap. She glanced up at him as he approached, and she inclined her head, saying nothing. He stood uncomfortably before her for a long moment, trying to look as though he had something to say. The air was sharp and thin, cold like ice but so clean. In the distance, he could hear the soft ebb and crash of the sea. The sky was that beautiful, rich blue again, so deep it ached.

He shifted, his side beginning to ache, and finally gave an awkward, stooping bow. "Thank you--for being kind to Kotarou." He watched her face carefully, but it didn't change.

"He's a good child," she said, watching him watch her, and there was a note of amusement to her voice. "It isn't often that a child like that is here." She eased back and crossed her arms across her middle. "Most of them aren't so stubborn. Most of them aren't so adamant." Nanashi nodded wordlessly, and again, she smiled. "He will live well."

Nanashi shifted again, scratching at his neck. "Do you--have children, ma'am?"

She gave a soft laugh. "I did, once. A girl. The sea took my first husband," she said, her voice matter-of-fact, looking up from her work to the path that wound away from the house and down the rocky slope. She smiled a little and tucked back her hair. "And her, not long after."

"Ah," Nanashi said, stupidly. "I'm sorry."

She looked back at him and ran her eyes over his face, the smile still on her lips. "The sea takes many, samurai-san. And the wars, and sickness, and childbirth. There's no meaning in death. It comes to everyone."

"Yes." Nanashi studied her, his brow furrowed, and gave a hesitant nod. She bent over her work again, shaking her head a little. Her calloused fingers gently teased at knots and unraveled the snarls and snarls of rope, looping its length around one hand as she hummed softly. Nanashi watched her for a moment, his frown deepening, and then he heard a ringing bark and his eyes found the small shapes of Kotarou and the doctor winding their way up the hill, both with bundles tucked under their arms, and Tobimaru bounding ahead. Nanashi glanced back at the doctor's wife, but she did not look up, and finally, he turned away and started his ungainly way to the house before he could be scolded for pushing himself.

* * *

Nanashi watched them play in the snow, powder flying as Kotarou and Tobimaru romped and tumbled. Kotarou's cheeks had bright spots of color as he flung handfuls at snow at Tobimaru, and the dog dodged and yipped, his tongue hanging from his mouth as he ran.

"Oh, my." Nanashi glanced up to see the doctor watching Kotarou, shaking his head. "Young things play so hard, don't they? Here." He handed Nanashi an earthenware cup and Nanashi took it, nodding his thanks, and scooted over to give the old man room as he eased himself down to sit. He snugged his plain haori over his shoulders and watched Nanashi sip at the tea. "How's your, ah--" He jerked his chin, lacing his knobby fingers in his lap.

Nanashi lifted his right hand and made a demonstrative fist. "Better," he said, after a few seconds. "Much better. Thank you." He sipped again at the tea, bracing the cup against his right hand, and breathed its steam deep into his chest. After a moment, he glanced up through his hair, eying the doctor's profile. "Tomorrow morning."

The old man scratched at his chin and nodded. "You'll undo all my hard work if you go now."

Nanashi gave a little laugh. "Thank you." He settled his weight against the little porch's rickety support and wrapped his fingers around the warmth of the teacup, letting his eyes follow Kotarou and Tobimaru as they played. The dog jumped, planted paws against Kotarou's chest, and then they were on the ground, Kotarou rolling and laughing and Tobimaru darting in to lick at his face.

"He is a strong child," the doctor said, after a long moment.

Making a sound in the back of his throat, Nanashi shook his head. "Pretty soon he'll start whining that he's cold and wet, and then he'll want to sit by the fire while he complains, but he won't gather any firewood unless you throw him out."

The doctor tsked. "Ah, but you didn't see him trying to carry you here, dragging a spooked horse behind him." He chuckled. "A sight to see." He looked at Nanashi sideways. "He fought hard to save you. What are you to him, samurai-san?"

Nanashi looked at him, twisting his lips. "His bodyguard." A densely-packed ball of snow smacked into the support by his head. He flinched at the spray of cold and wet and shot at glare at Kotarou. Kotarou just grinned at him, clapping snow from his hands, and Tobimaru crouched low on his front legs and barked, his haunches wiggling in the air. Nanashi grabbed a little nugget of snow from the porch with his good hand and flung it back. Tobimaru jumped and snapped his teeth around the snow, and Kotarou laughed, holding his reddened hands to his mouth to breathe on them.

Nanashi looked back at the doctor and gave a sheepish smile. The doctor chuckled again and crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his sleeves. "Such a child needs protection?"

Scratching at his neck, Nanashi gave a scoffing laugh. Over by the trees, Kotarou pried up a stick from the ground and pitched it away, and Tobimaru bounded after it, kicking up snow and dirt in his wake. Kotarou stood and watched, his breath clouding before him, his face pink and smiling. "Maybe," Nanashi said, half to himself. "Maybe not."

When the sun sank beneath the edge of the trees, Kotarou began to whine, and Nanashi rolled his eyes and refused to offer any sympathy, even after Kotarou furiously put his cold, wet hands against the warm pocket of Nanashi's neck, and even then the doctor just chuckled at their bickering. The wind picked up again, arrestingly sharp and cold, and as night fell and the old doctor was cooking dinner, his wife grinding some sharp-smelling herb by the fire, Nanashi and Kotarou collected wood until Nanashi noticed Kotarou's chattering teeth and the way he hugged his arms, and he sighed and put his hand on Kotarou's head. After that it was just Nanashi and Tobimaru collecting sticks in the dark.

Later, as Nanashi sat in their little room and peeled away bandages and peered at his arm, wincing as he prodded the wounds, Kotarou finally lost what was probably the last of his short patience. Tobimaru was curled against Nanashi's legs, his snout tucked into his tail, and the flickering candlelight jerked the room into warm, sharp relief. From the corner of his eye, Nanashi could see Kotarou sitting in front of him, shifting anxiously, but Nanashi ignored him and retied the bandage, tightening the knot with his teeth. When he moved on to the gash in his side, Kotarou cleared his throat loudly.

"What?" Nanashi murmured, loosening the bandage wrapped around his middle. The wound in his side was ghastly, snarls of sinew and crusted blood. He let out a hissing breath as he probed its edges, the skin hot and irritated. When he heard no reply, he glanced up through his hair to see Kotarou's blanched face, his brow knit as he stared at the wound. Nanashi said again, "What?" and Kotarou snapped out of it and met his eyes.

"You--I, um." He shifted again. "I have your--your sword."

"Yeah?" Nanashi pressed the doctor's herb poultice against his wound and took a deep breath as it burned at the raw edges of his skin.

"Yeah." Kotarou pushed himself to his feet and went to their little pile of belongings. He pulled out a long bundle from beneath the Ming cloak and came back, holding it close. Without meeting Nanashi's eye, he laid it on the floorboards between them and folded back the cloth to reveal the sword, its battered blade shining dully in the candlelight. There was a crust of blood along its edge, and at its guard, the scrap of cloth that had sealed the blade was ragged and filthy. The sheath was gone, probably for good. Nanashi studied the sword for a long moment, his eyes narrowed, and then he shook his head, straightening his back to tighten clean bandages around his middle.

"Get rid of it."

Kotarou looked up, then, his eyes wide. "What?"

"It's useless. It's broken, see?" Nanashi indicated with a nod the sharp edge where the metal had snapped, and shrugged. "There's no point in having a broken sword."

Kotarou frowned at the sword between them, and moved slowly as he tucked the cloth around it again. "We can--we can get you another one."

"No. It doesn't matter."

"What?" Kotarou raised his frown to Nanashi's face, his small hands lifting the bundled sword to his lap.

"I don't want another one."

"You need a sword," Kotarou said crossly.

"I don't have the money to buy a sword, and neither do you." He stretched experimentally, feeling the pull of stitches in his side. "I'm fine without it."

"We could get money!" Kotarou insisted. "You're--it's dependable, remember? And you still have to teach me. It's just, what, fifteen ryo? Twenty?"

"Try fifty."At Kotarou's indignant squawk, he allowed, "For a good sword. You could probably find one for twenty, but you have to be careful." He shook his head, pulling his gi over his shoulders and snugging it closed. "Just leave it."

Kotarou gave a little huff and crossed his arms. "What kind of bodyguard doesn't have a sword?"

"I guess a pretty bad one." Nanashi settled his weight back on his good hand and looked at the ceiling. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the job."

There was a long moment of silence, and Nanashi glanced over to see Kotarou staring at him uneasily. "Yeah," Kotarou said, and swallowed. His frown deepened, and he shifted back, looking at Nanashi like he was a stranger.

"You could fire me," Nanashi said quietly, watching him. "If you want." He looked back at the join of the wall and the ceiling.

"What?" Kotarou stood, hugging the sword close.

"You could stay here."

There was silence, and then Nanashi looked back at Kotarou. He was staring, his mouth open, and then he stomped his foot, his hands clutching at the sword. "No!" he said loudly. "I won't." Nanashi tried to shush him, but he shook his head vigorously. "I won't! If you leave me--if you just _leave,_ then I'll leave too, with Tobimaru. I'm not staying." He glared at Nanashi, his eyes wide with betrayal.

There was a long, uneasy silence, and then Nanashi ventured, "The doctor's wife--"

"No!" Kotarou spat. Tobimaru whined, but he ignored him, backing away another step. He glared furiously, his cheeks bright red. He looked as though he wanted very much to kick Nanashi in the shins as hard as he could. "I'll leave! I'll hunt you down! And when I die, I really will haunt you, I will!" Another step. "Don't think I won't!"

"You said she was nice," Nanashi said helplessly.

Kotarou froze and gave Nanashi a horrified look. "What?"

"You said--"

"Nanashi is stupid!" Kotarou shouted. "I don't want to live here!" He stamped his foot again, looking desperate and exasperated. "I want--I want--" His brow knit and he wilted a little. "I want to do the things we talked about," he said, looking at the floor. "I want to go places and cross the sea, and...I want to work for money, and I want...I want you to teach me how to use a sword." He wiped furiously at his nose and swore, his voice wobbly. "I don't want to stay here. I don't want to stay here if you're leaving." His lips twisted as he glared at Nanashi, and he looked as though he wanted to say more, his mouth opening, and then he just shut it again, clutching the sword tightly to his chest, his knuckles blanched.

Nanashi looked at Kotarou's young, soft face and thought about desperation and steel, Kotarou's small fingers wrapped around the hilt of a sword. Kotarou's dirty knees were trembling, and he stared hard at Nanashi, his cheeks flushed and his eyes filling with furious tears. And it kind of really hurt, which was a surprise, because how many children had Nanashi let die before? But how many of them were so stubborn and loud and angry? Kotarou was too proud for a child, that was it, and Nanashi knew that Kotarou would not ask twice, would never say please, and then he remembered that Kotarou was neither as young or soft as he looked.

"Well," he said awkwardly, and reached for Tobimaru, the dog sitting stiff and nervous, and scratched his fingers over the hard line of Tobimaru's head. "The little dog and I are leaving in the morning." He tried to make his voice light and easy, tried to make Kotarou lose that wide-open, betrayed look, or maybe keep from getting his own sword thrown at him. And then he saw Kotarou's face again and hastily added, "If you can keep up."

Kotarou glared through his tears and looked as though he might throw the sword anyway, and then he just snapped that Nanashi was a bad bodyguard and so he really had to get another sword now, or else he would never be able to pay his way. (Because Kotarou is an expensive child, and even though his price comes out of things like rocks to the head and water fights in rivers still edged with ice, Nanashi has never been rich.) And even though Nanashi was thinking that sword had been so _heavy_, so full of things he didn't like, he just nodded and agreed.

They didn't speak much after that. Kotarou stopped his half-hearted sulking every now and then to give Nanashi a look of renewed incredulity and honest irritation, and Nanashi sort of wanted to apologize, but he rather thought Kotarou might start crying again. Finally, Nanashi blew out the candle and slept, and when he woke on the morning when they were finally going to leave, Kotarou and Tobimaru were tangled up in the blankets again with him, Kotarou all sprawling limbs and elbows and ankles and Tobimaru's head propped on Nanashi's hip. They left early as the sun climbed, the air biting and crisp, walking with the dark mountains behind them and the endless swell and ebb of the sea all around.

* * *

And so the rest of their lives really begins like this: with most of the blood washed off, some of the weight shed, wounds beginning to heal. Nanashi still limping a little even though he didn't want to admit it and Kotarou declaring frequent stops to make him rest. Kotarou screeching that Nanashi was a giant idiot, which Nanashi didn't protest, because sometimes Kotarou had that uncanny kid-trick of being able to tell the truth.

Road dust and dirty snow, a filthy dog and early, stunted spring flowers.

Clean, cold air and a clear, bottomless sky.

* * *

_This is now version 2.0, after much sheepish resistance on my part. Thank you to everyone for being so kind._


End file.
